


Cours de la Vie

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [31]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone meets the baby Yves. Shameless, indulgent kidfic, written for the sheer pleasure of seeing Data babysitting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cours de la Vie

Beverly crept to the nursery out of concern for not waking Deanna, not out of any intent to sneak up on Jean-Luc, but it resulted in both. Deanna snored lightly on the sofa behind her, and Jean-Luc appeared not to notice her standing in the door. He leaned on the railing of the crib, slumped over like she'd never seen him before. One foot balanced on a toe behind him, all his weight on the other, arms crossed on the rail, chin resting in the sleeves of his green shirt, he appeared to be caught up in contemplation of the sleeping infant. While she watched, one of his hands dropped down to touch his son.

Neither parent had slept in twenty-four hours, if Beverly's estimate was correct. Since leaving the Briar Patch it had been one thing after the next until arrival at the starbase. Jean-Luc had been here, there and everywhere, talking to engineers and arranging things his indisposed first officer would have handled rather than delegating it to Ward Carlisle. His officers all had their hands full already, he claimed. Deanna had been alone all day with the baby. Except, of course, for visitors, most of whom had been more of a nuisance than a help--and Deanna was too courteous to throw them out.

When Beverly had arrived for a visit she'd volunteered to stay to help out and ended up ordering both of them to get some sleep. It wasn't working so well. She'd had to literally talk Deanna to sleep, and now Papa seemed to be nodding off while meditating over the sleeping baby.

When she came to his side, he glanced at her out of the corner of an eye. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "She's asleep on the couch," she whispered. "You should get sleep too, you know. I'll stay with him if it would put your mind at ease."

His attention returned to the swaddled infant nestled in cushions to help Yves feel more secure. Jean-Luc sighed, long and deep. "He doesn't look a thing like me."

Taken aback, Beverly studied the wrinkled face. "Newborns never look like anyone, Jean-Luc. He'll probably look like both of you, somehow."

Jean-Luc stood up, resting his hands on the rail. "No. He'll look like me. It's just interesting that he doesn't look as I did as a baby--Dee hauled out the album and looked."

Beverly laughed quietly and shook her head.

"I suppose you think that was terribly arrogant of me," he muttered, lip quirking wryly. "But we saw him. He'll look like me, with her hair. Though with some of her around the jaw. . . ."

"What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't tell you. But he came back in time, to save my life. He came to counter someone else coming into the past to kill me, because of something I do in the future. We saw him."

"Only you," Beverly gasped, trying not to laugh. "Only you! He really looked like you?"

"Deanna said she fears for the young women of the quadrant after he hits puberty. An empathic Picard on the loose." He propped an elbow on the rail and sighed again, chin in hand. "The problem is, she's probably justified in that fear. I have the feeling I should start practicing the lectures now--I'd guess he was mid-twenties. If Natalia hadn't had a memory wipe she could probably tell you how she managed to make a dinner date with him before his first birthday."

"Oh, no. I suppose that's justice. You were quite the troublemaker, at one point. Or so I hear."

Jean-Luc seemed to lose most of the serenity that had been in his face. "Terrifying to think of it."

Beverly tugged at his arm. "Come on. Stop thinking like that, and go get some sleep. He isn't even a month old and you're already panicking--wait until he's old enough to steal a shuttle or swear in Klingon to worry."

"The problem is, he's very likely to do both before he's six. You haven't heard Dee get angry recently, have you? And with Natalia around, he'll have some grand adventures." A bit of a whimsical smile reappeared. "Maybe he'll actually be less self-destructive than I was. I can only hope he inherits some of his mother's temperament."

Beverly stared at the infant again. She hadn't thought about that. Kidding around with Will and the others about Yves having a chocolate fetish or Jean-Luc's baldness wasn't the same. The child of Deanna and Jean-Luc--raised by two people who had Starfleet in common, and little else. A beautiful child, who would someday be blessed with empathic ability, but would he favor one or the other parent, or be more than the sum of his parents? Wes had certainly skipped off into his own private category. With extraordinary parents who lived extraordinary lives, who knew what Yves Picard would turn out to be?

The baby opened his eyes. Pale gray, but they would probably turn hazel like Papa's. If they were to become Betazoid black, they would have been darker. He yawned, tiny lips forming an O and glistening with spittle.

"Hello, remember me?" Jean-Luc said, and Beverly did a double-take. He was speaking to the baby as if he could understand--but, then again, why would she expect baby talk from Jean-Luc Picard? Yves seemed to be paying attention--he didn't close his eyes, anyway. Newborns didn't track well on anything beyond a couple feet. Jean-Luc touched the round cheek with a finger.

"Yves," he said, in a more normal speaking voice. The baby wiggled his legs and turned his head. "You do remember, then. Maman said you did that when I said something."

"You're not thinking he did that because you talk to him."

Jean-Luc stood up suddenly, seconds before Deanna's voice interrupted them. "Why are you talking so loudly?"

"We should get to bed before Beverly sedates both of us." Jean-Luc caught his exhausted wife by the arm. She touched Yves, smiling the lopsided, giddy smile of the very tired but joyful new mother, then reluctantly let Jean-Luc guide her out of the nursery. He glanced over his shoulder at Beverly as he left.

Beverly shook her head. "Your parents are going to take really good care of you," she murmured, picking up the wriggling baby. "If they can get you away from Auntie Bev, that is." She pulled a blanket from a handy pile of them on the changing table and went to the rocking chair.

Such a beautiful child. He went to sleep in her arms while she rocked and looked out at the stars.

"It's been a long time," she whispered to no one in particular, smiling and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, savoring the softness of baby's skin against her lips.

Yves wriggled--it was all he would do besides sleep and cry, for a while. It was all he had to do. Babies were little love sponges. Newborns especially--and you couldn't hold them too much. That would change as he got older, but for now, there was no such thing as too much attention.

She thought about Tom, and what he'd be like with a baby. He had said often that kids weren't part of his plan. But he was good with them; his nieces and nephews loved him, and any kids they came across seemed to gravitate to him. Probably because he was a captain, and because he had an affable demeanor that set anyone at ease. He'd make a good father.

She slowly rocked, and the baby made quiet sleeping-baby noises. And it occurred to her out of the recesses of her mind that although she'd once guessed Jean-Luc could be a better father than he thought, she'd never, in her flights of fancy of what it might be like to be his lover or his wife, imagined them having a child. She'd barely imagined the two of them together. She'd had a job to do, and she couldn't afford any more slip-ups than she'd already had.

After Kes-Prytt, she had returned to her quarters and lay awake thinking about his kiss. The ramifications of a relationship with him and the impact it would have on their careers. The positives, the negatives. Having his body brought into sickbay for her to autopsy. Though rationally she knew she could have one of the other doctors do it, she also knew she would have insisted on doing it herself if the need arose.

He had been with her to see Jack's body. She'd repeated the litany in her brain that she was a doctor and she'd seen it all before. But drawing back the sheet and seeing that pale, lifeless body on the table, seeing the face that had contorted in impassioned ecstasy while making love, that had beamed with joy at the sight of their baby, that face of her husband--white. Lifeless. Like wax, like clay. It wasn't her husband, and it never would be again.

Wesley's pale little face had been an unfortunate reminder of it. When she told him Daddy wasn't coming home again, he'd nodded and said nothing. His nightmares came along weeks after the fact, lasted only ten days or so, and gone. She wished she could've gotten rid of her nightmares that quickly. Every time she looked at her son, she could only think how unfair it was for him to never really know his father. Every time she went out with someone new, she could only see an inadequate stepfather for her son, who deserved so much better.

Yves grunted and moved his hands in his sleep. Beverly started rocking again. Difficult to believe this was the son of Jean-Luc Picard, more difficult to believe it was also Deanna's baby boy, more difficult yet to think of Lwaxana as his grandmother and Jean-Luc having to cope with that. But, seeing how much determination he had so far, she didn't doubt he'd cope.

"I think you're very lucky," she murmured, touching Yves' hand. That newborn skin, so soft and unmarred. "And I'll just bet you're going to teach Papa a lot before you're done growing up."

Yves started the quiet complaint of a hungry baby, gaining momentum, and she left the nursery to get a bottle. "Oh, no, hush, it's all right," she murmured, holding him against her shoulder and picking the appropriate button on the replicator. He ignored her plea and cried in earnest. Sitting on the couch, she plugged in the nipple and the wails stopped.

As the bottle slowly emptied, Beverly heard the bedroom door open and shut. She looked up to find Jean-Luc had returned, looking tired and a little concerned.

"Oh, go back to bed. We're fine."

But he sat next to her, watching Yves, then meeting her gaze. "How are you and Tom doing these days?"

There was something in his tone that hinted he wanted a certain response, and she considered questioning it. "Fine. He's more alert than you are, for starters."

Jean-Luc smiled and propped an elbow on the back of the couch. "He doesn't have an infant around to wake him up every few hours. Or an empath who wakes whether the baby actually cries or not."

"She's that sensitive to him?"

"At the moment she is. The only reason she isn't out here herself is because I am."

"Poor Jean-Luc," Beverly cooed. She tilted the bottle to a more comfortable position. "He's definitely got a bright future ahead of him. I'll bet he's going to make both of you proud."

"Mm. Ever thought about having another child?"

It took her aback. She avoided his eyes, picking up Yves to pat his back gently. "Right. At my age."

"Thank you, now I feel ancient again. Give me back my son."

She passed him the baby and refrained from a lesson in holding him just in time. The impulse persisted, in spite of seeing Jean-Luc do the unthinkable and handle Yves like he'd been juggling babies all his life. Far cry from the captain she used to know.

"You're better at this than I thought you'd be, Papa," she said, just to see him react.

But he didn't. The baby in his arm, wrapped snug in a white blanket and making breathy noises, had his attention. He didn't make cooing noises or baby talk. The look on his face, a soft, proud little smile, reminded her of--

"If you don't need me, and it sure looks that way, I'll just be going on home."

The warm fuzzy paternal look vanished. He glanced sharply at her, then softened. "Thank you for coming. It's good to be able to spend some time with you again."

That was an odd thing for him to say, considering she'd spent most of her time with Deanna. "You know, this is the first time we've sat alone together on this couch in. . . more than two years. I would've never imagined that would happen. The separation, I mean."

The pinch between his eyes and slight frown said he knew just what she meant. "I miss it, too. But we knew it would end somehow, someday. I think, given everything that *might* have happened to separate us, that I prefer the way it happened. Will finally has a ship. . . had a ship. He'll have another one soon, if *Lexington* proves unsalvageable. Data finally came into his own and got a promotion. Worf as an ambassador--think about how much he had to change to come to that place. Deanna as a first officer, of all things. And you. . . . It's good to see you happy with someone."

He said it quite sincerely, and taking offense was uncalled for, but it made her want to slap him. She tried to bottle it up and shove it aside.

"You're angry," he said, proving that she'd showed it in her face.

"Just do me a favor and don't put that on my tombstone? 'Happy with someone.' I spend years working as your CMO and saving your life and that's all you can say about me?" She got up and stalked around the room, waving a hand. "Promotions, new jobs, command, and my grand accomplishment of the decade is 'happy with someone.' Thank a bunch, Jean-Luc!" She turned around with a final fling of her hands and froze at the sight of him smirking at her. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

"You. I should have kept the deck plate you made skid marks on, getting out of my quarters at the mere suggestion of exploring the possibility of a relationship. Maybe you'd see it as more of an accomplishment then?"

"You're saying that because I didn't pursue a relationship with you, I'm incapable of having one at all?"

"No, that's not what I meant--just that you're one of many who want the best of both worlds and find it difficult to attain. Really, I'm laughing at me more than anything else, Beverly. I've been worse than you. You say you're to blame for the two of us never happening, but the truth is that if I really wanted it to happen, I should have tried to talk to you again."

Yves made a noise, interrupting him, and he shifted the baby to his other arm. Behind him Deanna appeared in the bedroom door, which had opened as Jean-Luc spoke; he didn't appear to notice. Beverly stood frozen, wondering what else he would say and half-afraid to find out.

"I used to think command and promotions were great accomplishments. They are, but there is another side of life that went wanting in my pursuit of them that I've come to see as equally important. My most recent great accomplishment has been a relationship. I did mean what I said as a compliment, because I know how difficult it can be to balance personal happiness with the professional. And I've known you long enough that I understand what it took for you to become involved with another officer."

Beverly pursed her lips and looked at the floor, too aware of Deanna and wishing she'd just left without saying anything. "I guess I can see that. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry about it."

Deanna came away from the door, shoving the floppy sleeves of her fluffy navy blue robe up her arms. "Remarkable, how you rescued yourself from that little slip up," she said as she drew up a leg and sat on it behind Jean-Luc. He looked stunned, eyes wide, and after a few seconds turned his head to peer out of the corner of an eye at Deanna.

"It even sounded like a credible explanation," Deanna continued, winking at Beverly. "And you were such a sensitive and caring man to take the blame that way. Ignoring the fact that you're both stubborn and--"

"Did anyone ask your opinion?" he said sharply.

"Well, I was actually about to say the same thing," Beverly said nonchalantly. "You really are getting much better at those off-the-cuff scrambles to save the conversation. I was so impressed by it that I decided not to lose my temper at the insult, after all."

Now he couldn't decide what to do--he had such a wide-eyed, bemused look that Beverly giggled. Deanna's quickly-stifled laugh made him suspicious; he frowned, but the amused kind that said he could share the joke even if it was on him. In his arm, Yves whimpered, snuffled, and wiggled.

"Thanks for the effort, Jean-Luc," Beverly said, coming over to them. "I know you didn't mean it the way it came out. But you're also right about relationships being tough to maintain alongside a career."

The baby wailed loudly, bringing the conversation to a standstill, and in the end Deanna took him off to the nursery to rock and soothe her son, leaving Jean-Luc to watch her go as if he wanted to follow.

"I should go," Beverly said, taking a step toward the door, but he caught her hand and pulled her down. She sat, surprised, and he let go.

"It was an indicator of where most of my thoughts have been lately. I'm sorry," he said, looking her in the eye.

"You don't have to apologize," she began, but again, he touched her, this time on the arm.

"I do. Because your career is as important to you as mine is to me, and if anyone had said something like that to me I'd have felt the same." He paused, hand falling away. "I'm sorry that I never spoke openly to you and let it come to an impasse."

Unexpectedly, her heart fluttered and flopped. "It's a little late to do this," she whispered, looking around uncomfortably.

"It's never too late to apologize."

Surprise brought her eyes back to his face. "What's happened to you?" she gasped.

A faint smile at that, over the remembered pain of whatever had brought him to this. "I finally recognized that I had left too many loose ends. I want my friends back. It had to come down to nearly losing Deanna for me to realize that leaving my feelings locked up inside and never saying what needed to be said was only going to result in my being a lonely old man. I came so close. . . . I thought she wouldn't care for me, that she might be leaving to join Will. If I had said nothing she would have been gone."

Beverly shrugged, unable to meet his gaze any longer. "She didn't try to talk to you?"

"I have a history of denial. She knew it too well. She didn't know that it was your idea to avoid a relationship--she thought that was my doing."

"I was afraid of investing too much of myself in you and losing it if--when I lost you," she murmured. "I was afraid of seeing you dead, the way I saw Jack. I was afraid of so much, and most of all, the career --you were a captain when we met. Jack never was. I wanted my career, and I knew we could so easily come to long separations and correspondence, and then getting a message from an admiral. It wasn't what I wanted for either of us."

"I understand that." He glanced toward the nursery, as if making sure Deanna was still occupied. "I probably wouldn't have, then. I do now."

"So does Tom."

"I hope he understands how lucky he is."

"I need to go. Thank you, Jean-Luc. For apologizing. I hope you know how happy I am for you and Dee. I think it's wonderful that you're so happy together."

He stood with her, and finally their eyes met again. She couldn't figure out who moved first, but she ended up hugging him--when was the last time that'd happened? Not so long ago, but this was different, a more friendly embrace that lasted longer. She patted his shoulder as she withdrew.

"Congratulations, Papa," she mumbled, grinning, "you've got a lot of adventure ahead of you. Just think, you get to teach him all about girls."

"Don't be ridiculous. We Picards are born knowing all about girls."

She pressed her fingers to her lips. "Not going there. See you tomorrow, Jean-Luc."

After the doors closed behind her, she let the laughter come, ignoring the questioning looks she got on her way to the transporter room.

When she walked into the quarters she shared with Tom, she found him still up, wearing his plaid pajama bottoms and ratty brown robe. He looked up from the brain teaser puzzle his engineer had given him and his face lit up like she'd brought him the most wonderful present in the galaxy.

"I thought you'd be over there all night. How's the kid?"

"Kid's fine, parents are hovering, and I was superfluous. How's Geraint?" She slid into his arms as he shoved the puzzle aside.

"Much, much better than I was just a few minutes ago."

She straddled his lap and put her hands inside the robe. "Remember what I said about getting you a new robe? Forget I said it."

"And what brings about this sudden change of heart?" He kissed her with a leisurely but intent passion. Her arms went around him tighter, pulling him up off the back of the couch, and she nibbled along his neck.

"You like it, I like you. Let's just say I know a good thing when I have it," she whispered. "Doctor's in--I prescribe an injection. For her."

He chuckled and undid her jacket. "I love it when you talk sexy medicine."

 

 

Will hesitated, then touched the annunciator before he thought himself out of it. The doors opened and Deanna called, "In the nursery." He found her in the rocker facing the viewports, feeding the baby, smiling up at him. "Bell didn't come with you?"

"She'll be here. I'm not interrupting?"

"I don't see him complaining." She smiled at her son, who was busily working away at the bottle. This took Will back in time, to an earlier birth, even though Yves didn't have her eyes and looked nothing like Ian. She had the same glow as before, but with weariness underlying. The reality of a naturally-conceived, authentic baby--tired mother syndrome.

"He's a beautiful baby," Will murmured.

She brushed a thumb across Yves' forehead, smoothing thin black bangs poking out of his tiny cap. This was the first time he'd been in to see the child. He really was beautiful, in the way of all very young infants with no other purpose in life than create a need for diapers and baby bottles, and putting smiles on the faces of proud parents.

It made him wistful. She sensed it, looking up at him soberly. "Is everything all right, Will?"

"Everything's fine." He pulled over a nearby chair, probably brought in for Papa to sit here with her, and perched on the edge of it, elbows on knees. "So far as it goes. We're status quo."

"She hasn't made up her mind yet," Deanna murmured, sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"I know. Nothing you or I can do about it." He looked at the floor, sighing at the thought of Bell and her indecisiveness.

Her fingers through his short hair startled him. She hadn't done that in years. The gesture was one of reassurance and affection; it touched him in a way nothing else could. She remained the only one who could be so intimate without making him feel it meant anything more than friendship.

Her hand fell away as she spoke. "I love Bell. I think she's very good for you. But if you can't agree. . . don't linger forever in the indecision, Will. You deserve happiness. Living with someone who can't make up her mind won't make you happy."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, Counselor Troi."

"I'm serious, Will. She can't expect you to wait forever for a decision."

Wiping a hand down his face as if clearing off a mask, he met her eyes, and wondered again at the odd twists of fate that brought them to this. "It serves me right, I suppose. What goes around comes around."

Anger flared in her eyes. "Now you're just being stupid."

"Am I? That seems to be my destiny, when it comes to long -term relationships. Terminal stupidity."

"I didn't say you were stupid, just that you're being stupid."

He sat up, stretching a little. "All right. I'm too tired to fight about it."

"How is your ship?"

"Jury's still out. Hull integrity doesn't look promising." He glanced around at the walls, and out the viewport.

"Would you still be interested in the *Enterprise* if she needed a captain?"

He shot an anxious look at her, and found her eyes full of mixed feelings. "He's not. . . is he?"

"I can tell that he thinks about it, but not with any decisiveness."

"I can tell you don't like the idea of leaving."

She contemplated Yves, fingers drifting over his forehead. "No."

"And aren't you planning to take command when he steps down?"

"I know you've always wanted it."

Will watched the baby finish his bottle and smiled as she sat him up and burped him. "If I can't have her, there's only one other person I'd want to see in command."

Deanna looked up from her son and smiled, then put her palm to Will's cheek. "Thank you."

He pulled her hand away and held it. "But if you *don't* want her--"

"I'll drop you a line."

"Got to keep her in the family, right?"

She giggled. "Does it ever hurt you to grin that hard?"

"Do I get to hold my nephew now?"

She wiped a little spit-up from the baby's face and passed him to Will. He gently held Yves' hand between his fingers, testing the baby's grip. His fingers were perfect miniatures, wrapping around whatever was put in them.

Deanna watched him cradling Yves in silence. He imagined for a bit that this was his baby, and Bell sat with him--he glanced at the crib and remembered Jean-Luc building it with a curious nonchalance, as if suddenly developing the nesting instinct was perfectly normal for starship captains who'd once sworn off paternity in favor of career. Will wondered what symbols he might use, if he built a crib for his son. Jean-Luc and Deanna had surrounded Yves with the moon and stars, fishes and swans. The motif repeated here and there around the nursery, in a mobile of stars and planets over the crib, in a moon-shaped night light, in the intricate carving of a swan in the headboard of the rocking chair in which Deanna sat. He wondered about the origins of the swan. The nickname suited her well enough but how Jean-Luc had decided to apply it remained a mystery.

Will's eyes fell to Deanna's face from that swan, but his question went unasked--Deanna had drowsed off, slumping in the chair. He left her there and took the baby in the living room. She needed sleep. Bell would be there shortly, and they could babysit well enough.

"Not quite an armful, are you?" He sat on the end of the sofa nearest the viewport. Holding Yves in one arm, head cradled in his palm, Will rearranged Yves' blanket, noticed the slightly-crossed eyes seemed focused on his face, and grinned. "The way you look at me, I'd think you understood me."

For an answer the baby waved his arms and kicked his right foot. Chuckling, Will kissed him on the head and rewrapped him. A nephew for him to spoil with presents, especially noisy toys that would drive his parents crazy. Soon Yves would be toddling around yanking things off tables and making his parents crazy with wanting to stick anything and everything in his mouth.

"Guess I should enjoy this while I can," he murmured, thinking of Bell wistfully. "Don't know if I'll ever manage a playmate for you."

He glanced around the spartan quarters, the grey monotony broken here and there by personal touches. A painting, various souvenirs of Jean-Luc's in spots he probably wouldn't have put them, and a non-regulation slouchy-looking beige chair with a wooden frame in the corner. Deanna's influence, probably. It looked like the sort of thing she'd enjoy falling into at the end of a rough day, but nothing like something the captain would like. Jean-Luc seemed to let her walk all over him when it came to life at home.

"You've got it pretty good, Yves. Looks like you've got Papa willing to let you and Mama drag him around by the nose." Will grinned; Yves waved an arm as if reaching for the nose just out of his reach as Will held him up close to his face. "Just think, you can probably beat Wes Crusher out for the record--youngest kid to ever see Captain Picard's bridge. Bet you'll end up in a crib in the ready room once in a while."

The annunciator dinged softly. He called out a quiet summons, and Bell came in, smiling, hurrying over to sit with him. She took the baby and pushed her nose into Yves' hand.

"Hello, beau petit, welcome to the world outside." She wiggled a little arm and spouted a stream of French Will couldn't understand.

"Told you he'd be a beautiful baby. There's a lot of his mother's face there," Will said.

"But babies change so much. He'll look like papa someday, Deanna was firm about that." She traced Yves' lips and tapped his nose. "These haven't finished growing yet, just like the rest of him. Sweet child."

They spent a few moments admiring him. Will found himself wondering again what a child of theirs would be like. When Bell noticed his expression at last, she sighed.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you think it." Bell kept looking at the baby. "You think, what would our baby look like?"

"And then I think, we're on a starship and we get into all kinds of trouble out here. And then I wonder if it would even be fair to the kid--all that time I spend on the bridge, and you have your studying and your shifts in sickbay."

Bell pushed her blond hair back from her face. "But people do it."

"The Picards did it." Will tucked the rest of her hair behind her ear for her. "They'll probably do it again. But we're not them."

The door opened. Captain Picard ducked through, walked to the middle of the room, and stopped. Will tried to decipher what could have resulted in the improbable circumstance of a small girl sitting astride his shoulders -- an accident with a strong adhesive? And as he gaped, exchanging incredulous glances with Bell, the little girl kicked her heel against Picard's left arm, and he turned to face them.

"Who are they?" the girl asked.

"If I could see, I might be able to tell you," Picard said. The girl removed a hand from one of his eyes. "Oh, that's Captain Riker and Lieutenant Sumners. And since we're here, ride's over." He removed the protesting girl in a duck-lift-drop motion that appeared to have been practiced, planting her on her feet on the floor in front of him.

"Can I have--" she exclaimed shrilly, clapping her hands to her mouth and stopping herself. "Sorry," she whispered. "Can I have Mr. Tiggles now?"

"I'll be right back." Jean-Luc went in the nursery, shaking his head.

Will leaned forward, seeing an opportunity in this. "So how well do you know Captain Picard?" he asked brightly, smiling.

The girl jumped up and down and caught herself, then wriggled in barely-contained glee. "He's my uncle captain."

"Really? For how long?"

"Since I was. . . ." She counted on her fingers in exaggerated gestures. "Four. He came to the Christmas party and told us stories. We had a snow fight, and he built a great big snow fort!" She held out her arms to demonstrate how big.

While she babbled on about the snow, Jean-Luc returned with a stuffed animal, scowling in bemusement at the girl's flamboyant gestures. She noticed him and stopped in mid-gesture, saw the toy, and leaped at it.

"Mr. Tiggles!" she squealed, putting her fingers to her mouth and pleading with apologetic brown eyes for forgiveness, then forgetting the transgression and hugging the toy.

"I'm surprised you want him back," Jean-Luc said, crossing his arms. "Your mother said you've gotten too big to carry around stuffed animals all the time."

She began to sway and turn from side to side, clutching the toy to her chest.

"But, I see that she was wrong. Ah, well. Yves has plenty of other toys, anyway."

The girl went to Bell and looked at Yves thoughtfully. Stroking the toy--a targ, Will realized, with big stuffed white tusks sticking out of his sewn-on smile and hardly any hair left on the crown of its head between floppy ears--she came to a sudden decision. She laid the targ next to Yves in Bell's arms, spun, and ran into Jean-Luc's legs, hugging them.

He dropped to one knee and let her hug him. "Sure you want to do that, Lindy?"

An exaggerated nod. "Mr. Tiggles keeps the creepies away. Yves cried a lot when we were on our way to starbase. He needs someone to keep the creepies away."

"You'd better get home, your mother will wonder where you are."

"Okay. Bye Uncle Captain!"

He got up and watched her zoom out the door, then noticed the grins on Will's and Bell's faces and shrugged, uncomfortable. Deanna came out of the nursery.

"Brought home another girlfriend?" she asked nonchalantly, punching up something in the replicator.

"Lindy wanted her targ back," Jean-Luc said. "She tackled me in the corridor. Oh, not those *again*!"

"You thought I only liked them when pregnant?" Deanna fished a pickle out of the jar.

"Why do you keep putting them in a jar when a bowl would work as well?" Will asked.

"They're better this way."

Jean-Luc threw up his arms. "Makes as much sense as anything else she does. You remember that chocolate bust you gave her for her birthday? She ate it! A replicator to give her any kind of chocolate she wants, and she ate it!" He referred to the one Will and Bell had special-ordered to look like him, to give Deanna a smile and an opportunity to tease him. She could be an incredible punster when in a good mood.

Will chuckled. "Why'd you do that, Dee?"

"I missed the real thing while he was off the ship. I only meant to take off the ear, and before I knew it he was nothing but neck." She sidled over and put a finger in the collar of Jean-Luc's uniform. "A little like this one."

"Don't touch me!" he snapped, shrugging her off and stalking toward the bedroom.

"You keep saying it's too tight," she said, following him and eating another pickle.

"Putting your finger in it won't help! My neck is the same size it's always been! Don't *do* that!" The doors closed behind them.

Bell smiled at Will slyly. "Sounds like flirting, doesn't it, cher?"

"You think?" She handed him the targ. Settling back, he held up the animal, nose to nose. "Mr. Tiggles. Cute. There was a time I'd have placed bets with confidence that Jean-Luc would never have kids. He just wasn't the type."

"I don't know that there is a type. You said Admiral Nechayev had children."

"True."

"Why were you arguing against having children when you really want them, Will?"

He put aside the targ and knitted his hands on his chest. "Because as much as I want them, I'd still rather keep you."

She met his eyes, rocking the baby absently. "The counselor told me I shouldn't expect that from you. We're not going to work out, if we can't agree on important issues like children."

"You were seeing the counselor about this?" Earlier in the relationship she'd refused to see their ship's counselor.

"I know you've wanted to give me space to think." She pursed her lips, a sliver of her warm brown eyes visible beneath her lashes as she contemplated Yves. "I've been doing that. I don't think it helps. The counselor didn't help me clarify anything--but that's not her fault. I can't expect someone else to make my decisions, and I have the feeling that's what I really wanted her to do."

Will said nothing. Too many things he could say were wrong and too many other things, not good enough.

"It occurs to me that perhaps this sort of decision isn't something you can make thinking about it. If we want relationships to be a matter of the heart, trying to reason out the details doesn't work. That's why everyone finds the Command Experiment such a mystery. The people who can't accept that Jean-Luc and Deanna make it work, they look at it only from a rational view. They don't see that for both of them, the decisions they make are with the heart, too. In our case, it should be simpler. I've been making it too difficult."

Will ran his fingers through her hair, elbow over the back of the sofa. "How so?"

"The question is, would I be happier with or without you? That answer has been 'with' for quite some time now. I can't see that changing. We've had fights, we've had our trouble spots, and I'm still happier with. Are you happy, cher?"

"You would know it if I wasn't."

"True. And I do know you aren't completely happy, but you've told me why. So the next question would be, would I be happier with us as we are, or as husband and wife? Which is a little more complicated. But it would please you to be married, and if that were my only reason it should be enough."

"It shouldn't."

Her warm, understanding smile fanned the embers of hope into flame. Kissing Yves on the head, right where the fine black hair peeped out from under the white knit cap, she rearranged the blanket around him and fingered the top snap on his sleeper. Then she met Will's gaze, her eyes bright.

"I knew you would say that. So I thought about what marriage really means, in the old-fashioned sense. Not in the sense some take it--these temporary contracts, renewable every few years, with stipulations for if or when they part ways and provisions for the children. I thought about my mother and her husbands, and the things she tried to make it work, and about your expectations. Then I look at you and your friends, who are really your family. They say you know a man by the company he keeps--you may not be able to keep company with them so often, but if I were to judge you by your friends I'd see someone who's loyal, trustworthy, willing to make sacrifices and uphold principles. I would have called Jean-Luc an idealist, for example. But I see what he does, creating his reality by sheer force of will. I see Deanna, who is also a close friend. I know you thought for a long time that you would marry her. I believed I had cause for concern about that, but I didn't see the other side of that coin--I didn't see Deanna. And even though she knows it's difficult she insists on being friends with you and making friends with me. Your friends didn't give up on you when things were difficult, and they went to great lengths to rebuild relationships. They have what it takes--they know how to love someone unconditionally."

Yves punctuated her sentence with a hiccup and a spit bubble. She giggled at it, shifting his slight weight in her arms. "You didn't give up on them either. More importantly, you haven't given up on me. I don't know if I understand everything I need to know to make it all work. I know it takes commitment, setting priorities, and love--I can do those. I know you can. So the last question, knowing what you expect of Mrs. William Riker, is whether I want to take on the role -- whether I can accept all that entails."

"So the answer. . . ."

"Can wait until I'm not holding someone's baby."

"Cruel woman."

She chuckled and leaned over to nibble his chin. "As if you don't know what it will be."

Will jumped up. "Jean-Luc!" he called, taking the baby from Bell as Yves started to cry. The bedroom door opened, and out popped Papa, shirtless. Before he could voice the beginnings of anger showing on his face Will handed him the crying baby.

"I have a date, sorry. You'll have to find another babysitter to hold him while you chase Madame around the bedroom."

Bell made a distressed noise. "Cher, that's rude!"

But she came with him as he left Picard's quarters, and smiled as Jean-Luc's laughter over the baby's wail followed them out before being cut off by the closing doors. Will grabbed her hand and half-dragged her along.

"I think m'sieur must know what's going on," she murmured in the lift. "Madame could sense how you feel, you know."

"Don't care. Any more than he cared--he must be pretty desperate for some action, if he just hands off the kid and goes in the next room."

"She's a new mother. She's probably up every few hours with the baby and too tired for much else. Not to mention all she's been through in the past few weeks." Bell's smile waned.

"It's one of those temporary sacrifices you make if you want something bad enough."

The smile reappeared. "So, if we were to have one, what would we name our first son? Kyle?"

One of the first things he'd done since leaving the Briar Patch had been finding his father. At first just discovering where he was--in Rome, of all places, according to his answering service. He wasn't even sure why he'd bothered, but the urge had been there. Probably hearing Glendenning's story had done it.

Then Bell had questioned why Will didn't just call him, or at least send a message, and after trying to explain he found himself wondering why. Discomfort wasn't a good reason to shun family, Bell insisted. By that line of reasoning she should quit speaking with her own mother, who had her own ideas of what Bell should be doing with her life.

The look on his father's face as he responded to the call pierced him like a shot to the chest. The greeting and the dissembling lasted moments. Then came a silence, and his father asked about the *Lexington.* Not how she was, but if she would be spaceworthy. More silence, stunned that time. And after an honest 'don't know yet' Will introduced Bell, ignoring the implication of his father knowing a detail of what had become a classified mission.

"John," Will said, answering Bell's question at last. "Jonathon."

"After anyone we know?"

He measured her as the lift stopped. "Maybe."

"As long as we can give him a middle name I choose," she said, smiling again. "After a friend of mine, to whom I owe quite a bit."

"I suppose. . . who?" he asked, having second thoughts. One of her friends was Andorian.

Bell's dimples made an appearance. "Dean. I think that's the masculine of Deanna, anyway."

Will stopped in the door of the lift and turned around, blocking the opening. "What?"

"You didn't think I was counseling with anyone on our crew, did you?" Edging past him, she preceded him on the way to the transporter room.

Not that he minded. It was a good view.

 

 

"Well, here we are -- Data, are you sure you want to do this?"

Puzzled, Data turned his head 4.5 centimeters to the left and studied Geordi's face. A half-smile on the engineer's lips, and a familiar variance of his tone of voice as he asked, meant Geordi could not believe what Data had suggested they do.

"Captain Picard referred to us as Yves' 'uncles.' Is it not normal for family members to offer to babysit when there is a need?"

"Well, Data, it's just. . . he's barely two and a half weeks old. Have you ever taken care of a baby?"

"I once took care of Alexander for Worf."

"Just once?"

Data touched the annunciator outside the captain's quarters. "Yes. Why?"

"Data. . . ." Geordi was frustrated with him, but there was no opportunity to find out why. The doors opened.

"Data! Come on in--hello, Geordi," the captain exclaimed, stepping back. He wore a semi-formal brown suit. "I hope you don't mind if this is a short visit--Deanna and I were about to go out."

"That is why I am here, sir. I remembered your anniversary and assumed you might wish to spend time on the starbase to celebrate. I am here to volunteer my services as a babysitter."

The blink, followed by a look Data remembered from previously-vexing circumstances, meant confusion.

"Data, we already have a babysitter. But that's very thoughtful of you." Deanna came from the nursery as she spoke, with the baby over her shoulder. "Thank you for thinking of us."

"May I see him?"

She slowly gave him over into Data's arms. Accessing records of prior observations of people holding infants, he arranged one arm appropriately and cradled Yves at a twenty-seven-degree angle, placing his head higher than his feet. His 'nephew' brought his hands up to his face and made a coughing sniff.

"Not bad," Geordi said. When Data looked at him, he shrugged and gestured at the baby. "You didn't need lessons in holding him, I mean. I did, when I came in yesterday. They don't give classes at the Academy in babies."

"He is a beautiful child," Data said.

The annunciator announced another arrival, and Guinan came in. She smiled at Data. "It appears I've been replaced."

"No, Guinan, Data was just visiting."

Data marked the rushed way the captain spoke and stored it with other instances of the same reaction. "I had volunteered to babysit for their anniversary. I understand however that you are to have that function." He passed Yves to her.

"I don't see any reason why you couldn't stay. I'd like the company," Guinan said. "Are you staying too, Geordi?"

"Well, I just came to say 'happy anniversary' before taking off on a date of my own. And to turn this in, before it's late. I'm going on leave tomorrow." He passed a padd to the captain, who put it on his desk.

"Thank you, Geordi. Have a good time on leave. Let's get going, Dee."

Deanna hovered near Guinan, looking at her son, until the captain placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her out the door. "But -- "

"We'll be fine," Guinan exclaimed, making a shooing motion with one hand. Geordi grinned at Data and followed them. Once the doors closed, Guinan handed the baby back to Data and headed for the replicator.

"Guinan, I thought babysitting would mean you would--"

"You're helping, right?" She took a steaming cup out of the replicator and glided across to a wooden bowl-shaped chair, settling in the thick beige pad with a sigh.

The baby occupied 26.834 percent of Data's neural processes by crying, mouth wide and gums showing, face turning redder as the wails became louder. He responded as he assumed from prior observations was appropriate--cuddling, soothing noises, and swaying. It didn't help. Data moved on to the next accessed procedure, checking the diaper.

"The diapers would be in the nursery," Guinan said over the baby's cries. "On the changing table."

He knew better than to ask how she knew that was required. Guinan rarely answered direct questions satisfactorily. He moved quickly into the nursery, past the crib and the toys therein, and swiftly removed the outer garments then the diaper. It was indeed time to change.

Observations, past and present, helped him deduce where to put the used diaper and which items were of use--he had watched friends with children perform this process a number of times. It was not difficult. Once the rituals of cleansing and powdering were finished, he studied the child. The baby's limb movements seemed to have no purpose but that was normal. His genitalia, however, had a different appearance than expected.

"Guinan?"

One point seven two minutes later, Guinan came in. "Something wrong?"

"I am curious. Perhaps this is due to his mixed parentage? I confess ignorance in Betazoid biology, it has not been an area I have had a need to research."

Guinan's voluminous dark red sleeve brushed his uniform as she leaned slightly to look. "No, that's human anatomy. It's called a foreskin. Circumcision is a choice of the parents and a lot of humans still do it."

"I have only seen four male children of human ancestry. I had not seen a foreskin before. I do have information on circumcision in my database, however. Thank you." He mimicked surprise. "You are not human. How did you know?"

"I asked Cecily Carlisle about it." Guinan watched him finish the diaper-changing process, re-bundle the baby, and pick him up. "Have you ever thought of having another child, Data?"

He recognized the look she gave him, interest with a deeper purpose, some message she wanted to convey. "I have considered making the attempt. It is not something I would do lightly. I would do a number of things differently."

"Really?"

Yves made a noise and moved against Data's chest. "I would be more careful in the creation of the child's neural net and in the initial programming. I should also devote more thought to my own circumstances and whether I would be able to give offspring the attention it would require for adequate nurturing."

"Do you miss Lal?"

Considering, and signifying it by his usual head tilt, Data accessed his emotion chip and used it to process the question. "Yes. I do."

"I miss her, too. She was a good person. Like her father."

He wanted to request clarification on the criteria she used to arrive at the conclusion that he was a 'good person' but refrained on the basis of subroutines defining what was and was not typical human behavior.

"I am curious. Previously the captain showed little interest in children. Deanna has told me that he wanted Yves, and wishes to have another. I asked him about this and received little help in understanding--he seemed unable to articulate his exact motivation for such a change of heart."

Guinan crossed her arms, hands disappearing into her sleeves. "Well, for most humanoids, part of it's instinct. If we had no instinct to reproduce there'd be a lot fewer people in the galaxy. Part of it is finding someone we want to stay with permanently and create an environment in which to raise the children--unless you're one of the brave ones who are willing to take on the role of single parent. Part of it is looking back on our own childhood and our relationship with our parents. The importance of family depends on our own experiences with our relatives."

"I see. I would assume that if one has had a satisfactory experience with family, one would be more likely to want a family," Data said. "But I do not believe the captain enjoyed his childhood."

"What would bring you to that conclusion?"

"He rarely mentions his family. I have noted that others, Geordi for example, refer to their parents and siblings often in casual conversation, even telling anecdotes from their childhood. But Will does not tell stories of his childhood involving his father, and I surmised from the one time his father visited the *Enterprise* that he and his father were not on good terms. It would seem to indicate that those with negative experiences say little about their family."

Guinan looked thoughtful in a way that normally denoted reminiscing. "Not everyone likes to share so many personal details, good or bad."

"That is true. I have noticed in the years I have served with her, Beverly reveals much about Wesley and little about her husband, but I gather she was in fact happy with him, and she speaks most favorably of her grandmother, who raised her. Deanna talks of her mother but only about how frustrating she finds her." Data frowned and studied Yves anew. "I do not understand."

"About what?"

"Given the apparent correlation between satisfactory family experiences and the desire to have children, and the apparent dedication to career both Deanna and the captain display, it seems highly unlikely that they would wish to procreate. Yet the captain took obvious pains to prepare for it. He invested a great deal of time in building furniture that he could have requisitioned. He grieved when Deanna had a miscarriage."

"That does seem odd, for someone who didn't want children." Guinan glanced at the crib, and picked up a stuffed targ sitting on the corner of the changing table. "This is Lindsay Sheridan's toy. She must have given it to Yves."

"I had noticed that she and the other children aboard seem to like the captain. Their behavior would appear to indicate some interaction between them. Another puzzling change. Captain Picard was not tolerant of children before."

"So, when you have another child, what'll you name him? Or are you intending to have another girl?"

"I allowed Lal to choose her gender. I would probably do the same again."

Guinan put down the targ. "Why? Most people aren't allowed to choose gender. Sexual orientation, yes, but that's a different subject."

Data noticed a significant increase in Yves' gyrations and breathy grunting, and gave him to Guinan. "I note that many human parents, though they are able to do so, choose not to make gender determination."

"So your concern was more for your experience than hers. If you wanted her to have an upbringing analogous to that of a human, she would have had her gender in place from the beginning as all humans do." As he had suspected, the baby quieted rapidly. He took note of the way Guinan held him for future reference.

"I had not thought of it in that way. I wished to give Lal choices that I did not have."

Guinan's brow furrowed. "But you could alter your own appearance easily enough. You could look like anything and retain your programming as it is--you could be female, in outward appearance. You could even do away with gender entirely if you chose."

"Dr. Soong gave me base programming that gives me my sense of identity. I would not wish to change that."

Wandering around the room slowly, Guinan smiled, but he suspected it was not for the baby. "You don't wish to change what Dr. Soong gave you? Why?"

"I am satisfied with myself, as he made me." He paused. Perhaps his error with Lal had not been so undefinable. Perhaps he had given her too much too soon? He had assumed himself to be unfinished. Dr. Soong may have intended it that way, paralleling human development--human babies were unfinished in so many ways.

His development had taken much longer than even a human child's. That might be different were he to create another android. If he had had another android as role model from the beginning, to explain things to him in ways androids understood, how much more quickly would he have come to where he was now?

The word for it was 'epiphany.' Data acknowledged it in due course without guilt or pain. He followed Guinan from the nursery and moved a chair close to the one she retook. Sitting with his hands folded in his lap and feet flat on the floor, he watched her hum and sway gently with the baby.

"In my attempt to create Lal, I researched human psychology and attempted to discover the proper algorithms to give her adequate base programming for her interactive subroutines. I used copies of my own programming to form a base. But at that time, I was significantly deficient in programming to what I am now. I believe that if I were to make the attempt again, I would succeed."

Guinan looked at him skeptically. He rephrased.

"I am more mature than I was. I would be a better parent."

Guinan smiled and glanced at Yves. "There is only one thing that makes you a good parent, Data. You have to love your child, and they have to know it. Everything else is subjective."

"I do not know if I could feel love. I may be able to demonstrate it, however."

She held out the baby, settling Yves in his arms, and guided his arms into position around him. "Anything is possible if you want it badly enough. I'm going to take a nap--keep an eye on him for a while, will you?"

Guinan nestled in the soft chair and closed her eyes. The baby made a mewling noise and coughed; Data rocked him, then held him to his shoulder, patting gently as he could. He accessed yet another soothing tactic and began to sing softly.

"Data. . . ."

He stopped and found Guinan peering at him through one barely-opened eye. "Is something wrong?"

"You don't have to imitate the captain."

"I thought it would soothe him to hear a familiar voice."

"Believe me, your own voice would be just fine, and so would singing in Standard."

"I downloaded a selection of lullabies before--"

"I understand that, but I think Standard would be fine."

"But--"

"Data, Yves is mostly human. I don't think his parents intend to expose him to other cultures until he's of an age to understand them."

Processing that took seconds. "I see."

While he sang a soft rendition of Brahm's Lullaby, Data noticed Guinan had fallen asleep. Cradling the baby in his arms, he studied the baby's face. Yves looked at him and waved a fisted hand.

"I will teach you 'Frere Jacques' when Guinan is not here to misunderstand," he whispered in French.

 

 

Worf strode through the *Enterprise* and ignored odd looks from her crew. When he entered a turbolift the lieutenant who had been inside edged around him and left.

"Computer, location of Commander Troi and Captain Picard."

"Captain Picard is on the bridge. Commander Troi is in her quarters, deck eight, section one."

"Deck eight, section one." Disturbing the operations of the ship was not his intent. He found the right place easily enough; their names were posted at the door, over the annunciator. He did not allow himself to hesitate.

When the door opened, answering his request for entry, he was surprised to find Deanna looking too much like he remembered her, long ago when they had attempted a relationship. She stood looking at him, unsurprised, and of course she wouldn't be surprised. She would've sensed him coming.

She smiled and stood away from the door. "Come in, please."

He strode inside and glanced around. The baby must be asleep. The baby--it could have been his baby. Memories of Jadzia crowded in demanding equal time. He could have had a baby of his own. Bonding with Alexander had taken too many years of fumbling and mistakes. A baby, with Jadzia, would have been a beginning, a second chance, a--

"Would you like something to drink?" Deanna asked. She wore a pale blue dress, and her hair was tied back simply.

"No, thank you." Worf noticed a drink sitting on a small table near the large Betazoid chair in the corner. "I have interrupted you."

"That's all right. I'm on leave, I was just reading a book while the baby naps."

"I am sorry I did not come to see you sooner."

"I understand. Please, sit down."

They set together on the sofa. She didn't seem uncomfortable; somehow, he had expected her to. The quarters she shared with Captain Picard were spacious. He recognized a few of her things scattered among familiar souvenirs of the captain's.

"Congratulations." He paused. "You did not express a desire for command when. . . . I can see you are well respected among your crew, and the captain obviously trusts your ability to command. You fought well."

Immediately, he saw that was the wrong thing to say. She did not like actual battle, and showed her emotions in her face too well. "Thank you," she said, smiling through it.

"I'm glad you thought of calling on me."

"We needed help. I knew you would gladly help the captain."

"That is true. But it was you who called me."

An awkward pause, as her gaze slid away to the floral arrangement on the table.

"It was my fault," Worf said softly.

"There was no fault." She kept looking at the flowers--white ones, with yellow centers, and flecks of pink along the edges of the pointed petals.

"I initiated a relationship without thinking first of the difficulties cultural differences might cause."

"We had unresolvable incompatibilities, and I knew all about cultural differences. There was no fault, just. . . . You should not feel discomfort in my presence."

"I should not," he repeated, as if reassuring himself. "I did benefit from our time together, Deanna."

"You did?" She sounded mildly surprised.

"I learned that I must cultivate patience and attempt to see things from another's perspective in an argument."

"I learned, too." She actually went sly. "Swearing in Klingon sounds a lot more impressive than swearing in French."

"You are happy," he said, half-questioning.

"I am." It showed in her eyes and her smile. It faded again slowly. "I was very sorry to hear about Jadzia."

He looked around, tempted to get up and pace, and found himself looking at those flowers. "We were planning to have a child."

Her hand gripped his, light and gentle. She rose and left the room; he wondered if he should follow, or if that meant the end of the visit, but in the time it took him to wonder she returned with the baby in her arms. Sitting closer this time, she laid Yves in his arms.

He was like any human baby, small, soft and weak. Yawning, he opened and closed his fingers, grasping at nothing and moving plump arms in random jerks. A brief wail, and one hand found his mouth.

Deanna returned--he'd been studying the baby and hadn't noticed her movement--and handed Worf a bottle. "He's hungry," she said, patting a clean white cloth over the baby's green sleeper.

"So small," Worf said, brushing a cheek with his thumb. The little mouth opened and he put in the nipple.

He fed Yves until the child refused the nipple and made a frustrated noise. Setting aside the bottle, he wiped the moist chin and propped the baby upright, careful to support his head the way he had seen Miles and Keiko do with Yoshi and Molly. Then he noticed the way Deanna was smiling at him.

"What?" he exclaimed.

"I was merely thinking. . . I need to run an errand. Could you sit with him for a bit while I do that? I'd take him with me but when I go anywhere on the ship with him, people want to hold him. It takes me forever to go anywhere."

"Only for a moment. I must be ready to leave soon."

"Of course. I'll be back shortly." She rose and headed out. "You may want to burp him, by the way."

Moments after the door closed, the baby began to fuss and cry. Worf patted and repositioned and patted again, to no avail. He looked around frantically, as if salvation surely could be found somewhere. Walking with the baby didn't help, nor did swaying or hushing or rubbing his stomach.

"You are not being cooperative," he announced, exasperated and wishing Deanna would sense her son's upset and return already. Which led him to wonder why she didn't.

The wails subsided, giving him hope, but it appeared to have been only a breather. Another cry, higher-pitched than before, assaulted his ears as the tiny body tensed again in his arm.

Then the doors opened. Worf turned, relieved, and found himself staring at his former captain. Picard didn't look happy.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded, looking around. "Where's Dee?" He held out his arms and Worf gladly surrendered the baby to him. With Yves over his shoulder, Picard patted and was rewarded with a hiccup and a burp. He spent some time soothing the infant, until all was quiet.

"She went on an errand," Worf said. "She said she would be right back."

"Computer, where is Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is not aboard the *Enterprise.*"

"Errand," Picard grumbled.

"I will remain with the baby until she returns, sir."

The captain blinked, losing some of his ire. "Worf, I'm not your commanding officer any more. You can use my name, you know."

The door opened again. Deanna hurried in, carrying a bag and almost bumping into her husband. She smiled at him and dodged around, heading for the bedroom.

"Just what are you up to? Leaving Worf to hold the baby and skipping off ship for shopping?"

"I didn't go off the ship. I simply wasn't wearing my comm badge," Deanna called back to them from the bedroom. "I asked Malia to pick up a few things for me. I just went to get them, and Kenny wanted to know if he could come over and see the baby." She returned and held out her hands.

Picard gave the baby to her. "You know he was crying?"

"I knew. It was only a little gas--he's fine, aren't you, hmmm?" Swaying, she kissed her son's head, darting a conspiratorial glance at Worf. "I was almost home when Lindy's mother stopped me in the corridor to ask if I could babysit for her tonight. I'm thinking of having a party and inviting all the children in at once. What do you think?"

The captain stared, with the look of someone trying to hide his response to that, and after a few moments of contemplation he sighed. "If they're all going to be asking to come in to see him anyway, we may as well get it over with. You'd better have plenty of parents around, the last thing we need is a bunch of out-of-control kids climbing our walls."

They stood in silence, gazing into each other's eyes. Worf wished they weren't blocking the door. The captain turned to him and smiled. "You should stay for lunch, Worf. It's only half an hour away."

"I came to take my leave of you," Worf said, shaking his hand. "We are leaving orbit this afternoon. Will you be at the admiralty ball?"

"We're supposed to, yes. We'll see you there, then." The captain ran a hand over his son's head and left again.

"Thank you for minding him for me," Deanna said.

"Thank you," Worf murmured, uncertain of why but feeling it needed to be said. Deanna's fond smile was followed by her grip on his elbow; she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"See you at the ball," she said, moving away again. "Hope you bring a date."

"I do not see why that would be necessary."

"I could set you up with one?"

"No. Thank you."

With a nod, he strode to the door. Something made him stop and look back. She stood beneath the viewports with the baby over her shoulder, watching him, smiling.

"Even if she's Klingon?"

He caught himself quickly. "You do not know any Klingons."

"How about a Vulcan?"

"I do not think that would be a good match."

"Well. . . my mother will be there."

Worf loosened his clenched jaw by increments. "Your mother," he growled.

Now she was grinning. "Don't worry, I don't think she'll like the idea, either. I'm kidding, Worf." He should have known. She had always kidded too much, and in ways he hadn't always understood.

"Thank you for reassuring me," he exclaimed, marching out. The captain almost bumped into him. "Excuse me!"

Picard stepped away and glanced at the front of Worf's shirt. "Oh, well, I see he's gotten you too." He pointed at the shoulder of his uniform. "I either have to make spit-up part of standard issue uniforms or change. Excuse me."

Worf chuckled. By the time he reached the transporter room, he felt much better about everything than when he'd gone in. And he felt quite optimistic about attending the ball.

Captain Picard had a mother-in-law. It was Lwaxana Troi.

This would be amusing.

 

 

Deanna sighed and put up her bare feet, one at a time, on the coffee table. "What a long day."

"The party was your idea," Jean-Luc said, coming out of the nursery with another spit blotch on his shoulder. Putting a cloth or blanket on his shoulder wasn't yet habit; he still tended to snatch up the baby and forget everything else.

"A visit from the fleet admiral and a worried captain wasn't."

He sat with her, slumping and putting up his feet next to hers. They stared at the ceiling. She turned her head slightly to look at him, and he did the same. A familiar smile pulled at the corners of his lips, as a familiar and not-unwelcome stirring of emotions began.

Yves launched a wailing full-voiced protest.

Jean-Luc tensed, closed his eyes, and groaned. "Are you *sure* he wasn't born telepathic?"

"It's my understanding that knack is a human trait. It's my turn, don't worry, I'm on my way."

Her feet hurt, her eyes actually felt sore as they hadn't since she'd studied her way to first officer and spent hours staring at padds, but when she reached the crib she forgot about it. Yves needed comforting; he screamed on as she picked him up, but slowed to snuffling as she soothed and kissed him.

"Mama loves you, petit, it's all right," she whispered, sensing the ease of whatever had upset him. "Papa loves you too but you're definitely not helping with alleviating acute metaphasic puberty."

He liked being held against her shoulder. With a hand supporting his head, she danced slowly around in circles, humming. Falling into the peace of having a happy baby, a happy mother, a happy father. . . .

She opened one eye on her way around and smiled. Jean-Luc leaned against the edge of the door, watching. No wonder she felt such a blanket of warmth and affection. He'd started removing clothes and come to the nursery in nothing but pants. Tight pants, at that. In fact, those weren't the pants he'd been wearing. Arms crossed, shoulder to wall, he lounged. Posed, even. With the lights off in the nursery he had the light of the living room behind him, and he'd turned artfully to make the most of it, casting most of his face in shadow.

He'd never tried this before. Of course, they'd never been in this situation before--since the beginning of the Briar Patch crisis there had been little time or energy for sex, and with a little hormonal and regenerative havoc caused by metaphasic radiation it meant a frustrated husband. Not that he'd insist, or even complain, really. He'd just embark on these crusades to get her attention and put her in the mood. Trying to hand off the baby to Will, the afternoon they'd gotten as far as 'happy anniversary' and the removal of the negligee before someone demanded the captain's attention, last night when she'd tried to be interested and he'd declared her exhausted and given her a foot rub instead--poor Jean-Luc had had a miserable time of it. Endless visitors, smoothing tensions between the temporary first officer and the crew, and a weary wife. Not a good month to have a regenerated libido.

And so here he was, posing in the door and showing off his chest. Taking advantage of her preferences.

It really was a nice chest. Nice arms, too. Very tight pants.

She closed her eye again and kept humming and turning, the baby almost asleep against her chest, and shifted Yves' weight to one arm. It only took a second to unfasten the skirt; she stepped out of it and kept turning, humming, turning, unfastening the clasp of her bra through the front of her blouse. A tug and her underwear followed the skirt. At that point Yves was lifted from her arms by his helpful papa; still humming, she finished shaking the panties off her foot and danced toward the door, pulling the blouse over her head and pirouetting through the living room with it dangling from her fingertips.

She tossed it at him when he appeared in the bedroom door. Like that would deter him. Flinging it aside, he lunged. He had a hand on her breast when it happened. He stared into her eyes, listening with her as Yves wailed, and she didn't have to be Betazoid to know exactly what was foremost in his thoughts.

"I'm afraid it's your turn," she said.

"Yes," he said mournfully, turning to go get their son.

Long moments passed, in which she sat on the end of the bed contemplating motherhood and its ups and downs. Finally, she got curious and went after him, peering into the nursery. Jean-Luc stood at the changing table, holding a diapered-but-otherwise-naked baby against his bare chest, smiling in his fuzzy paternal way.

This moment needed to be captured. Of course, he'd be angry. He hated it when she took pictures of him in advanced stages of undress. She'd have to find a good place to hide the results until he cooled off and forgot about it. She'd have to swear not to show anyone else. It would probably have to be locked up securely before he'd agree to let her keep it.

Then again. . . when he stirred from this little paternal nirvana, he'd probably go back to metaphasic puberty. She might even be able to get him to pose for her. Not just with the baby.

Deanna went after the imager and began thinking through their list of preferred babysitters, trying to remember duty and leave schedules and who might still be aboard. One thing she knew--Captain Picard appreciated an officer with initiative.


End file.
